


A Martian on my wing

by Wapwani



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, and his human daughter, grumpy alien space dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wapwani/pseuds/Wapwani
Summary: What's a grumpy space dad to do when his daughter's heart is broken?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Racethewind_10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/gifts).



> This is a result of all the flailing we did over Alex coming out and going for it with Maggie. One of the things I flailed about was - what would J'onn do when he found out about it? It was supposed to be funny, I swear!! It seemed funny in my head! Then I started writing it, and, turns out it wasn't so funny after all.

The lights are off when J’onn J’onnz walks into the DEO lab, but still, he’s sure there’s someone there. He heard muffled sounds; sloshing, and air being drawn heavily through a mouth or nose. His senses went immediately on alert – there had been far too many attacks and assaults on places he had thought safe to ignore even the slightest hint of something untoward.

And so he had gone sneaking into the lab, ready to transform into his battle form at the first provocation.

Not that the armoured Martian body would do him much good with what he found.

His daughter (he thinks of her that way immediately now, the word and emotion foremost in his mind when he looks at either of the women he has taken into his care). His daughter, Alex, is sprawled over her lab bench. She is clutching a bottle in one hand. From the smell in the air, this is not the first bottle she has opened. She is crying.

Alex cries silently. As though there is no will left in her to produce sobs. The tears stream down her face and her mouth is twisted her brow furrowed, and J’onn finds himself very much wanting to hit something. Specifically, the something that has brought his daughter this much pain.

“Alex? Has someone died?”

She looks up, and he can _see_ the training kick in. How she tries to straighten up, to push down the emotion, to bring back the soldier mask, to be his strong, brave, warrior child. She does not quite succeed. Her eyes are too raw, her breath too shuddery.

“What has happened, Alex?”

“I’ve lost-“ she starts to say, then she seems to think about what she is saying, and begins to laugh, a sound bordering so closely on the hysterical, J’onn wonders whether he is going to have to shake her to bring her back to herself.

She gulps.

“Nothing. I’ve lost nothing that was ever mine.”

So this is not about Kara then. Or her prized motorcycle. Possibly not even about her mother or Jeremiah.

“Alex?” he asks for clarification.

“Girl troubles,” she mutters, taking a drink to muddle her words even further.

“Is the girl you?” He moves closer, still not sure whether he should be ready to strike something. Her pain is still there, but she is strengthening in his presence. He can see it in her, in the firming of her shoulders and the thrust of her chin. She is putting her armour back on again.

She rolls her head from side to side. She fixes him with a glare.

“On Mars. Were all your couples male and female?”

Ah.

“No, Alex. A bonding was a bonding. Mind to mind. The vessel of the body was unimportant – of lesser importance. I won’t lie, some did have preferences; height, a particular formulation of the ventral ribs. But essentially, no. Not all male and female.”

She sobs now. Gulping, shattering, sobs that have him crossing the room in an instant. He stands beside her, turning his body so that he shields her – there is no enemy approaching, but still, he shields her when she is vulnerable. He places a hand on her shoulder.

“Alex,” he says, his voice soft, helpless. All the things he knows he should not be.

“I just…I want…” She cannot finish the thought. The sobs still wrack her.

J’onn wants to howl a challenge to the stars.

His child is hurting, and he does not know what to do.

“Who has done this?” he growls. He will tear the limbs from whoever has done this. One by one.

“It’s not her fault,” Alex says at last. “She was right. She was. I just..I just want…” She offers him a tremulous smile. “A bonding. I want a bonding, J’onn. And I don’t think I’m ever going to have one.” Her smile is slightly firmer now. “At least, not with her.”

“If you seek a bondmate, Alex, then we shall find you one.” He is resolute. Somewhere on this world there will be a woman worthy of his child. He will find her. If he has to tear the planet apart down to its very roots.

They start in a bar.

Not the dark alien drinking hole, where M’gaan still works, or the place with the pool tables where Alex has taken the salaries off every DEO agent who dares challenge her. No. He talks to Winn, sets him the task of finding somewhere appropriate. He has Kara choose clothing for Alex to wear, looks at the resultant selection, then calls Vasquez.

He walks Alex into the bar. He has had to threaten her with two weeks of night shift duty and loss of privileges to the armoury for her to agree to go with him tonight.

She looks furious, as though she is about to go toe-to-toe with another Hellgramite.

He finds her a seat at the bar, where the lighting is soft, but not so dim that he cannot see her from anywhere in the room; he wishes to be alert to any lesser beings approaching her, ready to cut them off before they reach her. At the knees if necessary.

J’onn is not entirely sure when he became quite so protective a father. Then he remembers the sounds of Alex sobbing, and does not question it so much.

“Wait here, Alex,” he says, trying not to make it an order. “I will go and find some suitable candidates and send them your way.”

“I don’t need a wingman,” she whispers furiously at him, signaling the woman behind the bar for a drink. It is something that comes in a tall elegant glass, not a bottle, and J’onn is somewhat mollified by Winn’s choice of location for this operation.

“We are not flying tonight,” he tells her.

He leaves her to her drink, and goes in search of someone he would be comfortable seeing at Alex’s side. He is armed with a list, gleaned from conversations with Kara, Vasquez and Lucy Lane. Winn’s contributions were hurriedly scratched off the list. J’onn has lived on Earth long enough to know that if he asked anyone that sort of question, he would be lucky to only receive a drink to the face.

Kara’s list is the longest. It consists of items like, kind, dorky, being ok with a weird taste in music, willing to share potstickers. He is not entirely sure how he is going to determine which candidates pass muster. Perhaps he should have brought a ream of quiz sheets and some pencils.

Lucy’s list speaks of toughness, loyalty, bravery. All good qualities, but again, possibly difficult to find evidence of in these circumstances. (He will not read a stranger’s mind. He will not. Not unless the straits are dire, and they have been here over an hour and he has yet to find a suitable companion for Alex.)

Vasquez’s list, though he had at first frowned at it, turns out to be the easiest to fill. Dark hair, gorgeous smile, easy laugh, smart.

He scans the crowded bar. He spots four, possibly five, potential targets. He sets off to corral the first one.

He sits down next to the woman.

“Hello, I am Hank Henshaw.”

She stares at him. “You do realise where you are, don’t you buddy?”

Good. She is brave, and possibly tough too. He mentally ticks those qualities off his list.

“I am here with my…colleague. She is a most…she has many good qualities.”

The woman starts to laugh. He ticks a few more items off his lists.

“I hate to say this, but this just might be working,” she tells him, leaning forward. “Where is this paragon of womanhood?”

He frowns a little at that, not sure if that response makes her dorky or smart.

“She is sitting at the bar,” he tells her, keeping his eyes on her so he can gauge her response to seeing Alex. “She’s wearing the black leather.” The black leather everything. Vasquez had been very insistent.

The woman looks. Her eyes darken as her pupils go wide, but then her mouth turns downwards. J’onn frowns. He turns.

Alex is still sitting at the bar. She is not alone. There is a woman with her, with red hair, wearing a flowing white skirt. She has a hand on Alex’s elbow. She is laughing.

And Alex. Alex has a smirk on her face that J’onn has not seen since the last time she defeated Winn at chess. He feels his chest swell with a confusing mix of emotions. Pride and happiness and hope and fear and trepidation all at once.

The woman besides him mutters, “Guess she didn’t need a wingman after all.”

“No,” J’onn agrees. “She is a warrior. She will fight her own battles.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
